Et Tu, Courier?
by Kal-El Fornia
Summary: After the Courier has sold him into slavery to Caesar, Arcade Gannon is alone with his thoughts, not wanting them to begin to go to dark places. One last time he sits with the Courier, and one last time he recites Latin poetry.


I just felt like writing something Fallout. I love the series and can't wait for Fallout 4 to come out, and I'm not sure why but this popped into my head. I just couldn't help but wonder in that scene where you can sell Arcade into slavery...what is going on in his mind?

Disclaimer: Out of tradition, don't own Fallout.

* * *

He wasn't sure what awaited the rest of his life, what slavery to the Legion actually meant, and he sat silently with his thoughts, wondering why he had never seen how brutal the Courier really was. He had seen the man gun down so many in their travels together, Arcade had even helped him slaughter Legion assassin after Legion assassin, and as he sat there thinking, the one escape he had left considering the dark life ahead of him, he pondered that maybe in his travels he had purposely ignored the more savage aspects of the Courier.

It was something that maybe others wouldn't have believed had they heard it, the Courier having a tongue more silver than the devil himself, but the fact that he was sitting in Caesar's tent, having just performed surgery on the tyrant, proved well enough what the Courier was willing to do and how low he was willing to stoop. There was a part of him that wondered what the Courier would tell the rest of the team when he made the long trek back to the Lucky 38. Would he be honest about selling him to the Caesar? If that was the case, would Craig Boone then turn his sniper rifle on the deadliest man in the Mojave Wasteland?

Those were just thoughts though, and thoughts would never be the truth. The Courier was skilled, as much as Arcade hated to admit, and he doubted that even Craig Boone would have been able to kill him, but it was the subject of death in particular that lingered in his mind. He had been given the opportunity to kill Caesar, he had had a knife in his brain when he was put to take out Caesar's tumor, and he had done exactly as he had been told. All it would have taken was one little slip, one little nick in the wrong part of the brain, and the Legion would have been without a leader. Surely, he would have been swiftly executed after that, most likely by the Courier himself, but Arcade was starting to regret not taking what would be the only chance ever granted to him to put Caesar in the ground once and for all.

He wondered how long that particular regret would stay with him, silently admitting to himself that not dealing with Caesar would remain his greatest failure, and he looked up for the first time since his enslavement when he saw that the Courier was making his way in direction. He remained silent for a moment, watching as the Courier sat in the chair directly across from him, and after about a minute of neither saying a word to the other, Arcade decided to speak.

"Hey there!" he began sarcastically enthusiastic, "Was it always your plan to sell me into slavery to Cesar, or was that a spur of the moment thing?"

The Courier's face, and eyes especially remained the same as Arcade had always seen them. Quiet and contemplative, mysterious with perhaps a hint of tranquil fury hidden there as well. He had heard the stories of how the Courier had risen from the dead, how after Benny had killed him, the devil himself sent the Courier back from hell. He had also heard of a different tale of how the Courier was an angel, an angel of death perhaps but still an angel, whose duty it was to enact the righteous anger of the God of the Old World and to spill the blood of the wicked, the blood of the Mojave. They were stories that as a man of science he doubted, but they were stories that showed just how fearsome a lowly package deliverer could be, and how just how much more destructive the Legion was now that the Courier was fighting on their side.

The Courier didn't respond him immediately, instead sighing as he looked down for a moment. If he didn't know better, Arcade would have thought that maybe the Courier was looking down in shame. He doubted it though, especially when he saw the way that the Courier finally raised his head, and stared him down with those same sharp eyes he had directed at every other person that had ever stood in his way. They were the same eyes that he showed Benny, before he had decided to crucify him.

"The world needs Caesar," the Courier spat, making sure to be forceful in the way that he pronounced Caesar's name just as the rest of the Legion always had, "more than it needs you."

Arcade thought for a moment, just a moment though, and he closed his eyes for a second. Without meaning to he began reciting familiar Latin literature that he read years ago, and in the moment had begun to feel much more prudent than they ever had before. In a way it was fitting, that the last Latin words he would ever speak would be poetry.

"Victrix causa deis placuit sed victa Catoni."

His words stopped for a moment, and he saw recognition in the Courier's eyes that he knew exactly what he said. The Courier had always been intelligent, he had impressed Arcade to the point that he thought that maybe his Wasteland leader had also had training with the Followers of the Apocalypse, but now his mind was something that Arcade couldn't help but fear. Though, it wasn't fear for himself or his own life that he felt, since he would rather be dead than continue on being a slave to the Legion, but it was fear for whatever might befall the Wasteland in the years to come.

"Goodbye, Courier."

The Courier opened his mouth to say something in response, but when Arcade gave him that look that meant that he was done with him, he silently watched as the Courier stood up from the seat across from him and began walking out of the tent.

It was the last time that he would ever see him.

* * *

I want to write more Fallout in the future. I wasn't sure how I felt about this right here.


End file.
